


Heir Apparent

by junko



Series: Chasing Demons [50]
Category: Bleach
Genre: M/M, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-19
Updated: 2013-03-19
Packaged: 2017-12-05 20:09:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/727414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junko/pseuds/junko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While out to dinner with Rukia, Byakuya makes a startling conclusion.  Will it be the beginning of the solution for some of the problems facing him and Renji?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heir Apparent

**Author's Note:**

> For those tuning in for the naughty bits, please feel free to skip to the last space break. For those faithful readers in it for both pron and plot, please excuse the length (no pun intended)! This one got away from me. Hopefully, the sexy at the end will make the journey worth it!
> 
> This contains mild spoilers for "post-time skip" Byakuya. If you haven't gotten that far you might not even notice, but, if you have, this is my attempt to begin to explain why certain items are missing from Byakuya's uniform in the 'present.'

Rukia seemed surprised by Byakuya’s invitation to dinner. She seemed ready to faint when he suggested they might enjoy going out. “But, nii-sama,” she protested. “Do I have anything fancy enough?”

Of course she did. She’d inherited nearly all Hisana’s kimono. But, Byakuya shook his head to indicate that she shouldn’t worry. “Your uniform will do for almost any occasion,” he reminded her. “Regardless, I was thinking of something casual. Perhaps we could take kaiseki at a ryokan? There’s a new place inside the Seireitei that Aunt Masama raved about in her latest letter. I’d like to give it a try.”

“Oh! A several course meal,” Rukia brightened at the suggestion, “That sounds wonderful!”

There was, however, still a lot of fuss over what to wear. Byakuya was amused by how many things Rukia tried on before settling on her uniform after all. For himself, he didn’t want the pomp and circumstance the captain’s haori would provoke, so he opted for a simple deep blue kimono with no indication of the Kuchiki crest anywhere. The wildflower silk and kenseikan would stay at home along with Senbonzakura. He doubted he could go anywhere truly incognito, but one thing all the theatre outings with Hisana had taught him was that if he could keep the obvious gestures to a minimum, so could everyone else.

On their way out, Byakuya pulled Eishirō aside to apologize. “Please tell the cook that I’m sorry not to have informed her sooner. This was rather impromptu. You, of course, have my blessing to invite the staff to dine on whatever she’s prepared for Rukia and me. Though I would ask that Aio take something over to the Lieutenant; he’s meant to be working late this evening, and I shouldn’t like him to be neglected.”

“We’ll see that he’s well taken care of, m’lord. The staff will be very pleased to hear you’ve decided to go out for the evening. It’s been a while, sir.”

“Indeed,” Byakuya nodded. “Perhaps you could also have Aio remind Renji when she sees him that he’s more than welcome to his usual place in the master suite this evening?”

“It will be as you say.”

#

They were into the second course, a narezushi, when Byakuya said, “I could use your advice, Rukia.”

She nearly spit out the fermented fish. After short coughing fit and a long drink of sake, she managed to squeak, “Me? Advise you, nii-sama? About what?”

“Renji,” Byakuya admitted, refilling her sake bowl for her.

“Oh,” she said curiously.

Because of their high rank, they’d been offered a private table near an open door to the garden. Strings of paper lanterns hung off the roof, illuminating the darkening sky. The setting sun shone pinkly through pine branches. Moths battered at the lights. Twittering sparrows hopped on the wooden planks of the porch floor emboldened to come nearer the entrance at the hopes of being tossed a crumb. “I may have made some mistakes with Renji,” Byakuya said, “and I’m not sure what to do to set things right.”

“Well…” she asked cautiously, “What do you think you did wrong?”

Byakuya chewed on the pickled fish for a moment while he collected his thoughts. Setting the chopsticks on their holder, he finally said, “I’m not sure, honestly. We were interrupted by this business with his brother before we could really talk about it. All I know is that Renji and I argued over dinner and he was brooding about something on the way home. Then he asked me some very odd questions.” When Rukia opened her mouth to ask what those might be, Byakuya shook his head. There were limits. He wasn’t sure he was ready to discuss his level of ‘gayness’ with someone who looked so much like his late wife. So, instead, he quickly added, “I think… if I had to guess, it has something to do with my perceived… commitment. I suspect he’s… jealous of my having been married.”

She nodded like she could understand. “It’s probably weird to him. Boys have always been more his thing.”

Oh? “But he said he was—“ Byakuya struggled for an appropriate term, but found nothing beyond “—equal opportunity.”

Rukia rolled her eyes, “That’s what he wants everyone to think—probably even what he tells himself. He’s run around with all types, if you know what I mean, but it was always the guys that stole his heart.” Rukia seemed to consider this, as she pushed her food around in its bowl. “Or, at least those were the ones I heard about—the ones that seemed to last more than one night.”

Ah. So Renji slept with both, but only loved one. That couldn’t be entirely true, however, since Renji clearly had loved Rukia in some fashion. But, if she were an exception rather than a rule, it was no wonder the idea of Hisana drove Renji crazy. That also explained his desperation to be certain that Byakuya considered himself ‘gay enough.’ Out loud, Byakuya mused, “But, what can I do about this?”

The serving girl came to take their plates in preparation of the next course.

Once she left, he continued, “How can I reassure Renji, when it’s impossible to deny that I’ve loved women? I was married. I can’t undo that just to make him feel more secure.”

“Have you… had other…um, guy friends?”

Byakuya looked up to see Rukia blushing furiously and taking another long swallow of her sake. “Of course,” he told her plainly. “And I told him so. However, you see the problem, do you not? I can say whatever I like. From his point of view, the only thing certain is that I was married to Hisana for six years.”

They were interrupted again as bowls of takiwase arrived. A savory smell of mushroom and soy sauce wafted up from the lotus root and chicken dish. Byakuya took a moment to admire its artful arrangement. Aunt Masama was right about this place. It was very good.

Rukia nibbled thoughtfully for a while, then her bright eyes glanced up at Byakuya, “You seem to have thought a lot about how it must seem from his side, nii-sama.”

She seemed unduly surprised by this.

“Perhaps,” Byakuya grumbled, irritated that she seemed to consider him so unthinking. “But I’m no closer to a solution.”

Rukia looked around the inn. She must have also been somehow reminded on whose recommendation this outing had been, because she asked, “Do you think that Auntie Massay makes things worse? I mean, she’s always after you to get married again.”

Byakuya hadn’t really considered that, preferring not think about Aunt Masama’s constant hounding much at all. He sighed, “I suppose. Though I don’t know how Renji could fail to notice my disinterest in such proceedings. I brought him along to the Hanami to help me avoid it, after all.”

“Right,” Rukia frowned into her bowl. “But, one thing I know about Renji is that he’d never stand in your way.”

Byakuya didn’t understand. “What does that mean in this context?”

“If Renji thought that you getting married was what was best for the Kuchiki clan… or for you, he’d let go, no matter how much it hurt. If it was what he thought you wanted, he’d do anything to make you happy.”

And Rukia would know, Byakuya supposed.

The serving girl removed the plates and brought a suimono, a yuzu flavored soup, served in a covered lacquer bowl. Byakuya lifted the lid and took a moment to enjoy the fragrance wafting up. The soup was a lovely bright green color.

“So, are you saying that you think Renji is upset because he imagines that, despite what I say and do, I will leave him for an arranged marriage?” Byakuya asked after a moment.

“It does seem to be inevitable,” she said with a kind of sad smile. “Or at least Aunt Masama would like it to be. Anyway, Renji knows how important tradition is to you. I’d guess he’s figuring he’d come in second to that. ”

Byakuya had to stifle the urge to groan in frustration, though here was an answer that finally made sense. Renji had only known the man Byakuya had become. Renji didn’t realize the extent to which Byakuya was willing to go against tradition for love. Possibly the big baboon also didn’t consider the fact that Byakuya felt as strongly about him, no matter what gender either of them were at the moment. He shook his head at it all. “And with the war approaching the pressure to remarry will only get worse. Should I get called to action, as no doubt we all will, the family will be in a complete panic that there’s no heir.”

Rukia let out a sly smile, “Too bad you can’t just produce one on your own, huh?”

Byakuya started to laugh at the idea, but then stopped.

Produce an heir. On his own.

Of course! How could Byakuya have been so blind all these years? The solution to their problem was just that simple. “Rukia, you’re a genius.”

“I am?” Rukia said uncertainly. “Why? What did I say?”

“It’s not a marriage my family requires of me, but an heir,” Byakuya said triumphantly. “I’m perfectly within my rights to appoint one. I would prefer to choose you, of course, but you would be deemed unsuitable, since as a woman you could marry out and lose the family name.” And gods forbid it be that Kurosaki boy! Byakuya took a moment to compose himself after that mortifying thought, “But, surely there’s a male cousin out there somewhere who would do nicely. Auntie Massay will be thrilled to be in charge of uncovering a perfect candidate.”

“Wait… does that mean you’d give up being clan head?”

Byakuya stared at Rukia for a moment, too shocked to speak. Apparently, all the years of training her to understand what it meant to be a Kuchiki had been… incomplete in several very serious regards.

Give up being clan head?

Did she think it was like a job that he could quit should a better opportunity present itself? Truthfully, Byakuya wasn’t actually sure he was able to ‘retire’ by any means outside of death. His name, after all, had already been literally carved into the gravestone. The investiture ceremony hadn’t come with an ‘unless you don’t feel like it anymore’ clause.

Byakuya took a deep breath. It wasn’t her fault she couldn’t understand the thousands of years of tradition and responsibility that came with the title. She shouldn’t have to. That was his, and his alone.

“It means I’ll have an heir,” Byakuya explained, finally, with a light shake of his head. “The only thing that would truly change is that the pressure to remarry will lessen.” And, of course, he’d have added responsibility of caring for someone in need of constant training, someone who would have to fully and completely understand what it meant to hold the title of clan head. “Eventually,” Byakuya continued, “An heir would be expected to assume some of the official duties, but there are very many things I’ve neglected being so singularly focused on the captaincy of the Sixth. And those times when the two duties conflict, I would have a proxy to send in my stead. This is a wise decision, regardless of my own personal stake in it. I feel foolish for never having considered the option before now.”

Rukia seemed to be only half-listening. She was slurping the last of her soup from the bowl.

Clan politics had always bored her, no matter how important Byakuya insisted they were. He ate his soup for awhile in silence, pleased with having come up with a possible solution to a myriad of problems. Because, even if they were wrong about what bothered Renji last night, this would still focus aunt Masama’s energies in a more tolerable way. Byakuya could make her happy by actually entertaining candidates for an heir and making an honest, sincere attempt at choosing one. It would be a relief to have her as an ally instead of an enemy.

A nimono arrived, a simmered bluefish covered in sweet sake sauce. Rukia hadn’t said much of anything through the whole last course. She was being unusually quiet, and so Byakuya thought to ask, “Is something wrong?”

“What? No,” she said. “I was just thinking about Renji. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if… well, you know, if we’d stayed together.”

So much would have to be different for that scenario to play out Byakuya couldn’t even pretend to imagine it. Because, for one, Hisana would have to still be alive. “Perhaps,” Byakuya said to be congenial, “You should consider yourself lucky. He’s a temperamental lover, exceedingly emotional and surprisingly needy.”

She laughed, “I know. That’s what I like about him.”

Byakuya frowned, “Really?”

“Sure, Renji’s tough and strong and all that, but underneath he’s just a big pile of goo. It’s adorable.”

“Yes, I can see that as an appealing quality in a friend,” Byakuya agreed. “However, goo is messier when you’re its lover.”

She made an astonished noise, and then shook her head. “You’re kind of adorable, too.”

“I’m fairly certain I’ve been insulted,” Byakuya said mildly, taking a bite of fish.

“No, nii-sama, I mean it. Maybe there’s hope for you two yet!”

#

Renji let out a relieved breath when they finally stepped back into the Seireitei. He and Kinjo had managed to avoid any more trouble in the West Second, at least, but his nerves still jangled and his grip on Zabimaru’s scabbard was tight.

As he walked through the gate, Renji gave his customary wave to Jibandō. The giant returned a slight nod, though in the darkening sky, he looked more like a mountain that had shrugged.

“Well, that sucked,” Kinjo noted.

“Yep,” Renji agreed. Rubbing his face with his hand, he felt his shoulders start to relax. It was never easy to tell someone their loved one had died in the line of duty, and Fujimoto’s family had taken it hard. Then, on top of all that, he and Kinjo had discovered that there were some nasty rumors going around about the shinigami. That kind of tension was too close to the gate for comfort. It was one thing when there was fear and restlessness deep out, but shinigami depended on the upper districts for food and other supplies.

In fact, Renji had better report in ASAP. “Who’s your contact over at the Second?” he asked Kinjo. “ I’d better go trek up there and… oh, crap. I can’t go. Byakuya would shit.”

“Oh? The wife doesn’t let you go out after dark?”

Renji’s nose crinkled. “What… even… just came out of your mouth, Seventh Seat?”

Kinjo gave Renji a pointed look and quirked a dark thick eyebrow, as though to say ‘you can’t deny it, though, can you?’ Then, he smiled lasciviously, but raised his hands for peace, “Nothing, sir.”

Renji had been considering offering to buy Kinjo a beer, as a kind of consolation for the grueling experience of having delivered the news and having to scurry away with their tails between their legs. Now: fuck ‘im. In fact, Renji wasn’t sure why he didn’t just punch the smirk of Kinjo’s face.

Renji decided it was because: “I don’t have the energy for this stupid, disrespecting crap right now. But, feel free to try out that wife line on the captain some time and see how that goes over. Until then, get your ass up the hill and make a report. The Second needs to know what people are saying about us out there. And, damn it, I want to know if their Punishment Squad thinks it’s true.” When Kinjo seemed to hesitate, Renji snarled, “Get! Or it’ll be Yuu Kinjo, Eighth Seat!”

In a flash of foul smelling air, he was gone.

#

A smarter man would have headed back to the Division and crawled into bed; Renji had never been known for his brains.

Besides, he could really, sincerely use that drink.

Renji was shot. He felt completely wrung out. All the stress of dealing with Fujimoto’s family tied itself into a ball in his gut. It killed him that neither of her sisters seemed to want to accept the tsuka ito, the ceremonial cutting of the ribbons that wrapped the hilt of her zanpakutō, Hyakuren. It felt like a personal slap in the face. Hyakuren was Fujimoto’s companion, her soul mate, the core of her power... and they’d looked at it with a mixture of horror and disgust.

Thank fate Renji had no one to reject a part of Zabimaru like that.

Ah, shit, but he did now, didn’t he?

His stupid-ass brother was alive. And that moron Seichi was part of all this rebellion crap, too. Seichi had hated shinigami for so long, he’d probably curse Zabimaru’s tsuka ito or tear it or spit on it or grind it under his heel in anger--probably while his prison mates cheered him on.

The thought stabbed deeply into Renji’s heart. It would be like dying all over again.

 _We will leave nothing behind_ , Zabimaru reassured him with a rattling hiss in the back of his mind.

A cold comfort, but Renji breathed easier at the thought. _Yes_ , he told Zabimaru, _we’ll go out together in a blaze of glory. They’ll be nothing left of either of us._

He’d come to the Eleventh. He hadn’t remembered intending to head here, but Renji was grateful to see the gates of his former regiment flung wide open and the sounds of a party raging inside.

Yeah, maybe this was what he needed. He let out a deep sigh and made his way over to his favorite hang out. There was a great spot to watch all the action on the main practice hall’s front porch, under the portico, perched on the railing and overlooking the yard. On his way there, six people said, “Heya, Renji,” and offered a bottle or two. It was like old times. In fact, seeing him, the Seventh Seat hopped off the steps and muttered, “Shit! You back already? I thought I had an hour before my shift started!”

“No, I’m not still--! Wait!” Renji tried to stop him, but he was already rushing toward the gate, stuffing the loose edges of his kosode back into his hakama. Renji shook his head. Someone would tell the poor fool that he still had plenty of time—or, it would occur to him any moment now that Renji wasn’t Sixth Seat any more. You’d think he’d have noticed the lieutenant’s armband, but from the looks of everyone, he was probably just that drunk.

Renji settled into his favorite spot and let out a long breath, letting the noise and laughter wash over him like a balm. Tipping the bottle back, he was horrified by the quality of sake that filled his mouth. He swallowed it with difficulty and a lot of coughing. “Holy shit, what is this?” He asked no one in particular, “Homebrew?”

“Well, it’s not the Kuchiki label, that’s for sure,” purred a soft voice coming up beside him. “Maybe your tastes have become too cultured for us.”

Renji turned to see Yumichika standing beside him. Under the lanterns, the brightly-colored feathers decorating his right eye flashed in the light almost like neon.

“Maybe,” Renji told Yumichika. He put his nose to the bottle and pulled it back sharply. “But, I don’t care what you say, no way this stuff is legal.”

“It was cheap and plentiful. We don’t always ask a lot of questions,” Yumichika shrugged, and then leaned his elbows on the railing to look out over the practice yard. Matsumoto was in the middle of it teaching some kind of drunken soccer cheer to a bunch of guys who seemed much more interested in watching the way her body jiggled when she jumped around. Renji had to admit it was a nice view. Yumichika seemed bored, however. He glanced up at Renji, his purple eyes looking him up and down. “What was the fight about?”

“Fight? What fight?”

“Why else would you be slumming down here?”

Renji took a swig of the raw alcohol. The second wasn’t nearly as hard to swallow as the first. It still burned, but not as badly. “I just wanted a drink and some… uncomplicated company.”

“Hmmm, uncomplicated?” Yumichika nodded sagely. Standing up, he dusted off his hakama. “Okay. I could let you fuck me.”

Sake spewed everywhere, showering the backs of the guys standing in front of Renji. A couple of them shouted rude things at him. He waved them off as he tried to catch his breath. When he finally did, he choked out: “What?!”

“If you’re trolling for a hook-up, I’m okay with that,” Yumichika said again with a flip of his hair.

“Uh…” Renji hated himself for the fact that, very briefly, he entertained the idea. It’d felt like a long time since he had a straightforward offer like that. To be fair to Byakuya, there’d been more switching things up than there had been at the start. But what Yumichika seemed to be offering came without the weight of history. It was free, easy… fun.

And an incredibly bad idea.

“No!” Renji said, hopping off the banister onto the ground, leaving Yumichika standing on the porch. Renji started backing up immediately, shouting to Yumichika as he threaded through the crowd toward the gate. “I’m good! Thanks for the offer, though. I mean, yeah, look at the time. I had no idea it was getting so late. Got to dash!”

#

Rukia was talking about Ichigo. Incessantly.

For the last several courses, in fact, it had been non-stop Ichigo Kurosaki. Him and something baffling called a ‘juice box,’ which was apparently Very Meaningful.

It was becoming more and more apparent to Byakuya that he was going to end up with that horrible, uncultured, orange-haired Shiba-look-alike as a brother-in-law. Perhaps Byakuya should be investigating a way to acquire a large supply of these ‘juice boxes’ to serve at the wedding reception. 

Rukia didn’t seem to get it, though. She kept dithering about Ichigo, like she wasn’t quite sure of her feelings. Initially, Byakuya had tried to encourage her uncertainty. The boy was human and incredibly young. There were so many reasons why he was a bad choice. But the more Byakuya tried to agree with her, the more she took offense and talked herself more deeply into… _love_ , Byakuya supposed.

In which case there was nothing for it.

But enduring this chatter about the boy’s every interaction with Rukia to-date and the pseudo-poetry about color of his hair in the sunlight was just about turning Byakuya’s stomach. Though perhaps, to be fair, it was that he’d eaten too much. The courses had kept coming and each one was more artful and better tasting than the last. As strange as it seemed, Byakuya wasn’t entirely used to the richness of this food. He hadn’t been off the estate for a meal in more than half a century.

Either way, Byakuya had no idea if he could last until dessert. 

#

Back in the office, Renji discovered a dinner tray had been delivered for him from the estate. A curious hand had left a note on top of the baskets. It wasn’t Byakuya’s perfect script at all. It was careful, but only barely legible. Renji set the bottle of Eleventh Division homebrew down on his desk, and unfolded the note.

 

Abarai-san,  
Dinner for you. Also, this one was humbly supposed to tell you: you’re welcome home for the evening.  
\--Aio

 _Home_.

This was the second time someone had used that word in association with Renji and the estate.

Renji wasn’t sure how he felt about that, but decided he appreciated the offer and the food. He settled himself in front of the desk and lifted the baskets. The dish was so simple, Renji wondered if it had been made specifically with him in mind. It was a chazuke—leftover rice with green tea poured over it. The cook had made it slightly fancier by topping it with pickled cuttlefish and seaweed flakes. It had grown cold in his absence, but the smell of it made his stomach growl. He sipped the remains of the wicked Eleventh division brew while gobbling down every last bite.

Looking through the end-of-the-day work, Renji came across the prisoner transfer form. Seeing his surname over and over made his gut clench. Rice stuck in the back of Renji’s throat. Poor, stupid Seichi. He’d be subsisting on water again. 

Maybe, with any luck, Seichi didn’t feel it any more, after all this time.

Somehow Renji doubted it. Satisfaction and contentment never fueled no rebellion. Renji wished he could go see him, at least, make sure he was okay. But, that was stupid. About as stupid as it got, in fact. Seeing Seichi would trigger all of Renji’s onii-chan impulses and next thing he’d be fighting Byakuya in the middle of the square again, only this time it wouldn’t all end up forgivable because it was secretly Aizen’s fault.

Though, fuck it. Renji wouldn’t put all this rebellion stuff past that sneaky bastard. It seemed like Aizen’s sort of gig.

And honestly, a serious farmer’s strike could cripple the Seireitei. The defenses might be virtually impenetrable, but shinigami needed to eat. The majority of the food came from the outside, from the farms of the upper districts. Some nobles had holdings inside the walls, but they could never feed an army.

Aizen could be planning to starve them out.

But someone in the Second would think of this, wouldn’t they? Renji drank the last of the home brew and stood up. He picked up the dinner tray intending to deliver it and his thanks to the Kuchiki staff personally. Then, he’d talk to Byakuya. Even if the captain wouldn’t let him go to the Second himself, Renji could at least tell Byakuya his thoughts.

#

It took forever to leave the ryokan. Despite very little bother during the meal itself, it seemed that the innkeeper really wanted the Kuchiki stamp of approval. So, Byakuya and Rukia were offered a tour of the kitchens and a special sweet treat to taste. 

But, finally, they were able to make their excuses. 

Once back at the estate, Byakuya wished Rukia a good night. He gratefully took the hot tea Eishirō offered, if for no other reason than to warm his hands from the night’s chill, “And the lieutenant?”

“Was sent up some time ago, my lord,” Eishirō explained with a deep bow.

A fact that became very obvious in the front room of the master suite. 

First, Byakuya encountered a bandana. Then, five steps further in, near the sunken hearth, was the long trail of obi. In the moonlight, the white silk threaded through the room like the shed skin of a snake. Next, at the threshold of the dressing room, lay a black pile of hakama. Kosode and shitage crumbled together just beyond that, one sleeve flung out, as though pointing to the red-haired form sprawled naked on the low bed. Zabimaru stood like a vigilant sentry at the foot of the bed.

Even the dull light of night couldn’t diminish Renji’s bright hair, though in the dimness it took on a maroon cast. Tattoos, like darker lines in the shadows, fell in stripes and lightning strikes on the pale skin of his back.

The image was just too inviting.

Byakuya shed his own kimono and quietly crawled onto the bed. 

Should he let Renji sleep? For the moment, Byakuya propped himself up on one elbow to look down the length of Renji’s body. The tattoos made his face look fierce even in sleep, and, though curled slightly to the side, his arms and legs flung open unashamed and proud, like a tiger that flopped down, content after a kill.

He was an astoundingly gorgeous creature.

Byakuya couldn’t resist placing a soft kiss on the tip of striped shoulder and lightly running his hand along the contours of ribs to hip bone.

Renji stirred immediately, rolling off his side to lie on his back. His eyes blinked open and he gave Byakuya a crooked, teasing smile, “Well, if it isn’t Mr. Party Animal. I wondered when you’d finally stumble in.”

Byakuya’s hand had come to rest on powerful thigh. He lightly stroked skin, enjoying the shivers that made Renji’s muscles quiver and his breath quicken. 

“My apologies,” Byakuya murmured. “If I’d known what I’d find waiting for me at home, I’d have been much ruder to that innkeeper.”

Renji chuckled. Reaching up to run the back of a crooked finger along the side of Byakuya’s face, he said, “‘Rude’, huh? I must be something special if you’re willing to be rude for me.”

“You are, Renji. Very special,” Byakuya dipped his head down to capture Renji’s mouth in a kiss. Sucking at lip, Byakuya languidly teased Renji’s mouth open, eliciting a sound that was the combination of a happy sigh and an almost plaintive whine.

Fingers curled briefly into Byakuya’s hair at the back of his neck, but, after an urgent tug, let go to slap the mattress—as though going into a back fall in the practice yard. It was such a curious move that Byakuya pulled away from the kiss. He opened his eyes to see Renji’s hand clutch at the blankets, twisting a fistful around and hold tight, as though to form a voluntary, makeshift restraint. 

Before Byakuya could comment on it, Renji lifted his head to eagerly offer more of himself, to reconnect and deepen their kiss. He shifted his body slightly so that Byakuya’s hand naturally fell to a cock twitching to arousal. Obligingly, he squeezed and stroked until Renji made soft begging noises into their kiss. Already panting hard, Renji’s body struggled enticingly against the bonds he made for himself.

“Renji,” Byakuya said firmly. “I’m naked because I want your hands on me tonight. I want to feel your passion cover me.”

“Oh, god! Yes,” Renji said with a shuddering groan. For a moment, Byakuya was afraid Renji would be utterly undone by this request, but he managed to hold himself together while he untangled from the sheets. Hot, but tentative, hands reached for Byakuya face. Renji pulled Byakuya into a bruisingly grateful kiss that left Byakuya’s lips tingling and swollen. His breath stolen, Byakuya fell back onto the mattress.

Renji rolled on top of him, but quickly lifted his weight by straddling Byakuya’s waist. Slowly, worshipfully, Renji’s callused palms left Byakuya’s face to gently trace down the contours of neck and shoulders. Kisses, light and feathery, followed after. Byakuya turned his face away, burying it in the pillows to hide his growing blush—though his body betrayed him not only with flushing skin but growing need.

“God, so beautiful,” Renji was whispering into his skin between kisses and licks and nips. “I wish I could make you scream my name,” he continued, almost as though to himself. But when thumbs and lips found hardening nipples, Byakuya was afraid Renji might get his wish. He couldn’t entirely control his squirming body; he jerked and thrust under Renji’s skillful touch. His eyelids fluttered shut and his jaw clenched as he repressed a deep groan.

But, Byakuya let his fingers entwine in Renji’s hair, encouraging him in his continued exploration. Torturously slowly, Renji moved ever downward until his mouth closed around Byakuya’s cock. One hand stayed to tease at nipple while lips stretched and sucked, bobbing up and down. Sweat broke out all over 

Byakuya’s fevered and tormented body. No longer able to hold back, he let out a gasping cry. Byakuya looked down to see Renji looking back, his eyes full of desire and want. 

He was sure his own were misted over in the same way, because Renji made a longing, needful growl sound deep in his throat.

“Oh, Renji,” Byakuya panted. “Fuck me.”

Renji faltered mid-motion, Byakuya cock slipping out of open, surprised mouth. “What? Seriously?”

“Are you going to make me say it again?”

“Uh, yeah,” Renji said. “I’d like to hear it a hundred times. But you got to say it again, otherwise I’m going to think I was dreaming.”

Despite the blush threatening to engulf his entire body, Byakuya managed to keep his voice and gaze steady as he repeated, “Fuck me, Renji.”

“Okay,” he said, a goofy grin breaking out on his face. Pulling himself into a kneeling position, Byakuya watched with half-lidded eyes as Renji stroked himself, gathering pre-cum onto his fingers. Gently spreading Byakuya’s legs, he massaged his entrance. 

Desperately, Byakuya fumbled for the dresser drawer of the nearby end table until he found the container of lube. He tossed at Renji. “More,” he managed to say.

“Okay, good,” he said, clearly relieved and happily opening the tube. By chance, Byakuya had thrown him the cherry-flavored stuff they’d bought at the Human World store. “I would have... but I was afraid you might change your mind if…”

“Renji! Focus!”

“Right.”

And, Renji did. In fact, in no time at all, Byakuya found himself the one grasping at sheets and pillows, his face turning away again in mortification at his own desires. A finger slipped in, stretching, teasing. Every time it left, Byakuya keened a little plaintively. “Oh my god, you’re so hot,” Renji was saying. “I want you so bad. I love you so much.”

Opening his mouth to say he loved Renji back, the sentiment became a shout of pleasure as Renji lifted Byakuya’s hips suddenly and thrust himself inside. One hand helping support Byakuya, he bent over him, bringing their mouths together in a kiss before thrusting slow and steady. His lips were desperate and clumsy, but passionate and hot. Words of love and lust were whispered into Byakuya’s ear. “You’re so tight. God, you feel so good. I want you so much. You’re all I ever want.”

Byakuya curled his legs around Renji’s waist, pressing them together more urgently. Gasping and moaning now, Byakuya let himself be utterly taken. His hands grasping wildly at any part of Renji’s back, nails scratching at skin, “Harder,” he moaned anxiously, “Renji, harder. Fuck me hard, like a _demon_.”

A growl and a bite deep into the soft sensitive skin of Byakuya neck, and then their skin slapped together faster and faster, stretching Byakuya to the limit. The sensation built until he felt he was going to explode. 

“Oh, Renji!” Finally, he gave Renji what he desired a loud, unrestrained scream and panting of his name over and over and over, until Renji, too, shuddered and came hot and deep inside him.

Only afterwards, did Byakuya realize that several things had shaken off the dresser in the corresponding wave of reiatsu release. But, no one was hurt. The only casualty was an arrangement of flowers which had toppled. Even so, Byakuya clung to Renji’s back, gripping his body close, as though hanging on for dear life.

“You’re magnificent,” he breathed.

“Heh,” Renji said with a little kiss on Byakuya’s shoulder, “You’re not so bad yourself.”


End file.
